


A Mandatory Ice Cream Social

by SneakyBunyip



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Bad Puns, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Ice Cream, Ice Cream Name Puns, Or good puns, Platonic Relationships, Wholesome, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:47:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29853480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SneakyBunyip/pseuds/SneakyBunyip
Summary: Excerpt:Hux pointed an accusatory ice cream scoop at the Lieutenant. “Compromising my officers means compromising my bridge and I will not have it. Therefore, I take it upon myself to ensure your rest is properly conducted. Now sit.”He expected Mitaka to sit. He specifically told Mitaka to sit. Instead, Mitaka stood, open-mouthed, and without comment, while Hux pulled out two bowls and two spoons.Hux held up the carton of Emperor Palppermint and frowned at the frozen Lieutenant.“Is there something wrong?”
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	A Mandatory Ice Cream Social

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was published in the Starkiller: The General Hux Fanzine released last month!

General Armitage Hux enjoyed the sound of his boot heels as they clicked against the reflective surface of the _Finalizer’s_ command bridge.

This was, quite literally, his favorite stomping ground: the strip of reflective tile that bifurcated the bridge. It loomed over the data pit where ambient beeps and clicks floated through the air, all dominated by his rhythmic march.

The only thing he enjoyed more than his own percussive walk was the state of his bridge crew.

Disciplined, unwavering, indefatigable. 

Every officer in their proper place. 

Every order carried out without hesitation.

Why, even on a day like today, Hux could effortlessly predict his officer’s responses to his commands with great confidence.

“Braneed, Astrogation Report.”

_Lieutenant Braneed will assure me that all is synched and aligned as it should be._

“Chart updates are synched and plot algorithms are aligned, general,” announced Lieutenant Braneed.

“Gorai, System Scanners.”

_Lieutenant Gorai will confirm the new version upgraded successfully._

“Operational, and upgraded to Version 5.001 as of last night with success,” assured Lieutenant Gorai.

“Mitaka, Armament Report.”

_Lieutenant Mitaka will announce that the calibrations for the turbolasers and ventral cannons are complete._

“Everythin’ looks real great, sir!” A voice chirped, cheerfully.

“Excuse me?!” Hux snapped, swinging around to this Far-From-Mitakaesque voice who dared to cheerfully _chirp_ on his bridge. 

The sandy-haired, button-nosed _youngling_ stood where the soft-spoken dark-haired lieutenant was usually stationed. “E-everything looks-”

“‘Real great’ is _not_ a measurement of success on this command deck, Lieutenant…”

“...Graysekk, sir.”

“Lieutenant Graysekk, where is Lieutenant Mitaka? This is _his_ post.”

“Umm…” Lieutenant Graysikk wondered aloud.

“Umm?!” Hux balked, “Is Umm a planet in the Unknown Region? Shall we see if you can reach the Umm System by way of the nearest airlock?!”

“N-no, sir!” Graysikk squeaked. “He...Mitaka...he took the day off.”

“Ridiculous! No one takes a day off on my command bridge. You work your shift, _then_ you rest. That is why I provide shifts! Isn’t that right, command crew?”

General Hux swept a gloved hand across the bridge and on cue, his officers replied:

“Yes, sir!”

“Never missed a shift, sir!”

“It’s only a head cold, general!”

“Absolutely, sir, general, sir.”

Hux lowered his hand. “Now. Since everything ‘looks _real great_ ’ here, I will pay the Lieutenant a little visit to _see_ why he is neglecting his duties. Colonel Kaplan, you have the bridge.”

A puffy-eyed Kaplan quickly tucked his handkerchief away and nasally replied: “Yes, sir!”

**[Forty-Seven Minutes Later…]**

The momentum of Hux’s ire was not hindered by the thirty-seven-minute elevator ride to the bowels of petty officer’s quarters, nor was it dampened by the ten-minute march down three corridors to Lieutenant Mitaka’s quarters.

 _What was the Lieutenant doing?_ Hux wondered. _He has never taken a day off since he was hand-chosen for my bridge crew._

He obsessed over this pondry for the entire forty-seven-minute journey.

_Was he hungover from some lavish cocktail party involving pointed hats and a plague of glittering confetti?_

_Was he involved in a scoundrel-infested Sabacc game, clouded in Spice smoke and reeking of cheap ale or worse…_ Hux shuddered _...Andoan boxed wine?_

He scowled at the control panel beside the Lieutenant’s quarters, as if it was the culprit keeping Mitaka from his duties.

He announced himself by jamming his index finger against the red button, the leather of his glove creaking under the fierce pressure. 

The muffled, gentle chime did _not_ reflect the seriousness of this matter.

A second insistent smash of the same button only administered a second friendly chime.

Teeth gritting, temper fuming, Hux’s knuckles rapped seven times against the door in quick succession.

Seven knocks was, of course, the standard expression of anger.

Six knocks would never be taken seriously.

And eight knocks? Practically an equivalent of Kylo Ren slashing the door down with a lightsaber. 

No, seven was quite sufficient. 

The door hissed open.

There was...no confetti. 

Not a party hat to be seen.

The room smelled of lavender and linen, not of cheap ale and Spice.

No strobe effects to burn the retinas nor dazzling glow sticks existed, only the gentle ambiance of dimmed lamplight and scented candles. 

Music, where the bass was expected to be “dropped”, was nothing more than a gentle flow of low synthesizers and delicate electronic beats.

Lieutenant Dopheld Mitaka was wearing dark gray sweatpants with a shirt emblazoned with the Arkanis Academy logo, a hole beneath the collar. A wooly blanket draped around his shoulders.

Mitaka’s dark eyes were red-rimmed, his usually ruddy cheeks were pale. A souvenir “Tour of the Stars” mug steamed in his hand. “General? Sir?!”   
The hot liquid sloshed dangerously against the lip of the mug as he nearly saluted with it before remembering to shift it to his other hand.

“What is this?” Hux asked, his anger somewhat deflated by the state of his usually reliable Lieutenant. “Did you forget your shift was scheduled for today?”

It would have, of course, been career suicide if Mitaka had uttered the words “Are you serious?” in that moment, but the confusion on his face might as well have said as much.

“Did...you not see my physician’s note, sir?”

“Of course I did,” Hux snapped, while also taking out his datapad. 

He had not. 

**Subject Line: Lieutenant Dopheld Mitaka, Mental Health Reprieve.**

Hux mumbled keywords aloud as he scanned the note. 

“...Incident with Kylo Ren”

“…is my professional recommendation”

“...experiencing severe-”

Hux scowled at the note.   
Then he scowled at Mitaka.

“Ah.” Was all he said...then General Hux spun on his heels and marched down the hallway and out of sight.

**[An Hour Later…]**

When Lieutenant Mitaka’s door hissed open again, all the Lieutenant could say was, “Sir?!”

A rather annoying response, if Hux were being honest. 

“Make way, Lieutenant!” 

Hux proceeded into the small living quarters, rolling a black cooler behind him.

Hux looked over the quaint space: a single dark gray couch, a light gray caf table, and a holoprojector which was showing some sort of insect documentary. He set the cooler beside the caf table and pulled out a black table cloth with a First Order emblem border stitched in red.

“Now,” Hux announced, opening up the cooler, “I require my bridge crew to be in tip-top shape at all times. I will _not_ have Kylo Ren upsetting the order of things with his petty tantrums.” He pointed an accusatory ice cream scooper at the Lieutenant. “Compromising my officers means compromising my bridge and I will not have it. Therefore, I take it upon myself to ensure your rest is properly conducted. Now sit.”

He expected Mitaka to sit. He specifically told Mitaka to sit. Instead, Mitaka stood, open-mouthed, and without comment, while Hux pulled out two bowls and two spoons. 

Hux held up the carton of Emperor Palppermint and frowned at the frozen Lieutenant.

“Is there something wrong?”

“Sir, I…This is...I mean...” Mitaka pursed his lips and there was a glassy-eyed emotion on his face that made Hux thoroughly uncomfortable. “I don't know what to say.”

“Then say nothing,” Hux sniffed. “I do hate when officers ramble on when a simple thank you would suffice. Now sit.”

The cartons came out one-by-one.

“There are five flavors here. You will enjoy one of them.” The words came out more of a command than a tempting guarantee, but no matter. The proof was in the pudding...or ice cream, rather. 

“We have Emperor Palppermint…” 

A white carton appeared with a stumpy-limbed Emperor Palpatine holding a glowing candy-cane for a lightsaber. His black robes were trimmed in festive green and white Life Day colors. 

“Thrawnberry Blast…” 

On the blue carton, Grand Admiral Thrawn and his overly-expressive, sparkling red eyes waved cheerfully atop a happy-go-lucky purgill. Blueberries and sprinkles trailed in their wake. 

“Veersnilla Nut…” 

General Maximilian Veers posed proudly on the brown carton, standing on a snowy ice cream scoop beside a chocolate AT-AT that was roughly the size of an anooba puppy. 

“Chocolate Maulmond…” 

Of all the other iconic figures of Galactic history doodled on these cartons, it was Darth Maul that looked the least pleased. Perhaps it was the fact his dual-lightsaber blades had been replaced with long almond shavings. Perhaps it was that he had an overly large head and stubby limbs? A mystery for the ages...

“And my personal favorite...Darth Cravin’.”

Hux lifted a black carton where Darth Revan stood atop a pile of puffy marshmallows, each one with x’s for eyes and unhappy frowns. He held his spoon-shaped lightsaber to the sky and white lightning glittered behind him. “Now with Sith Sprinkles!” was written in bubble writing below the marshmallowy carnage. The sith sprinkles were blood red. The dark chocolate ice cream was as black as the void. 

Hux was fairly certain the original Darth Revan mask did not have upside-down V’s for eyes, but one never knew for sure...

He set the final carton on the table and looked up at Mitaka, his enthusiasm growing more genuine. 

Mitaka remained unmoved. Perhaps unimpressed, but definitely unmoved. That same open-mouthed expression wider than it had been before the Big Reveal of these collector-quality ice cream cartons. 

“If you would prefer to eat them by yourself-” Hux said, picking up the Thrawnberry Blast.

“N-no,” Mitaka said, snapping out of his blank stare with a sharp blink. “No, this is...Thank...ah, thank you so much.”

Mitaka finally sat on one end of the couch. Hux sat on the other. Both of them had a spoon in hand, and a bowl in front of them.

Neither of them moved.

Hux frowned. “You may scoop when ready.”

“Ah, yes, of course…” Mitaka leaned forward and scooped from the Thrawnberry Blast, eyeing the legendary grand admiral riding the glorified space-whale. “I have never heard of these flavors. What is Bosskin Rancors?”

“They are a local shop in the Rainbow District of Coruscant. I receive one carton a month as part of some “Flavor of the Month” subscription I cannot seem to escape.”

“Did someone sign you up for it as a prank?” Mitaka asked, reaching for the Veersnilla Nut next. “Not exactly,” Hux said, picking up the Darth Cravin’ and scooping out the sinfully dark chocolate ice cream with veins of marshmallow. 

“Who signed you up for it?” Mitaka asked.

“Ah…well…”

The memory found its way to the surface, as it always did whenever a new carton appeared in his mail. 

_“Whew!”_ _she says, hoisting herself onto the low beam above the coolant system. “Armie, do you know how hard it is for an old lady to climb up here with a tub of Darth Cravin’ and two spoons?!”_

Hux watched the black ice cream make its slow escape off his spoon and back into the bowl.

“Your replacement is a buffoon,” Hux said finally, shifting gears suddenly.

“What?” Mitaka blinked. “Graysekk? Did he not calibrate the cannons properly?”

“No, he did,” Hux huffed. “But he used...Wild Space vernacular in his report.”

“Oh,” Mitaka winced. “You do hate Wild Space accents.”

“I do!” Hux confirmed, stabbing at the ice cream and taking an angry bite. The dark chocolate threatened bitterness on his tongue but was saved at the last minute by the traces of vanilla and fudge, steering it towards aggressive sweetness. 

Hux’s nostalgia enjoyed the treat more than his adult taste buds. 

He took a second bite. 

“What did he say?” Mitaka asked, taking a bite of the Thrawnberries Blast and Veersnilla Nut together. Both of his eyebrows raised and a second bite quickly followed. Hux approved of this greatly.

“He said, and I quote: ‘Everythin’ looks real great, sir!’” Hux punctuated the R’s to emphasize just how Wild Space the phrase was.

Mitaka choked on his third bite of ice cream and turned away coughing. “That...that’s terrible.”

“What is that, anyway?” Hux grumbled. “‘ _Real great_ ?!’ Why not just say ‘great!’ Or ‘ _the calibrations for the turbolasers and ventral cannons are complete’_?”

“I will talk to him.”

Hux sniffed. “All that is to say: You were missed, lieutenant.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I am not pressuring you to return immediately,” Hux amended, defensively.  
“I know, sir.”

“Your mental well-being matters.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And Kylo Ren is an ass.”

“...”

“You may agree with me, Lieutenant.”

“He is, sir.” Then after a moment, he added. “I’d rather not speak of him.”

Hux frowned down at his bowl. Of course, Mitaka would not wish to speak of him. That was foolish. 

Hux glanced over at Mitaka who was no longer eating, and now staring into his bowl, his dark eyes glazed over and far away.

 _Think, Armitage,_ Hux berated himself. _Talk to him about anything. Anything at all._

All he had at the moment was ice cream.

“You would never have seen my father and a dessert in the same room. Red meat and fried starches were his main staples and nothing green touched his plate that was not a garnish. As unhealthy as his diet was, he hated sweets, had a vendetta against them, in fact. To him “sweets” meant “a reward” and he felt rewards took away from the hard lessons one must learn in life. Hard lessons he insisted I learn.” Hux helped himself to a second scoop of Darth Cravin’. “It was Grand Admiral Sloane who had the sweet-tooth.”  
From the corner of his eyes, Mitaka’s head snapped up. 

Grand Admiral Rae Sloane was not a subject any subordinate would dare bring up to General Hux, but he knew the officers serving under him all speculated and gossipped about he and Sloane’s relationship. 

Had she raised him? Had she been responsible for Brendol Hux’s untimely death? Did Hux fear her disapproval? Did they still speak to each other?

Supreme Leader Snoke had all but banished her to the Unknown Regions for the simple fact that she got under Kylo Ren’s skin. 

She was not afraid of Ren, and Ren damaged far too many control panels around her to allow her to remain on the _Finalizer_ with Hux. 

Sloane was Armitage Hux’s hero for many reasons, but that one held utmost in his mind. She feared nothing.

“May I ask what happened to her, Sir?”

“You may not.”

Mitaka’s shoulders slouched.

“You may, however, have another scoop if you wish.”

“Oh, ah the Emperor Palppermint, please.”

Hux wiped the scooper clean and doled out a hearty helping to Mitaka. 

“Thank you, sir. Ehm...may I ask what she is like?”

Hux almost said no to this question as well, but the gentleness in Mitaka’s tone gave him pause. He so rarely had an opportunity to speak of her, and no other officer was brave enough to talk of her, lest Ren was lurking in the vicinity.

“She was a rebel within the Empire. A rebel that fought anyone who did not put her Empire first, regardless of their rank or political influence. She has a code of honor that cannot be broken, and the First Order has a stronger backbone because of her. She is fearless. She is wise and...a wise-ass.”

Mitaka snorted a laugh. 

Hux hummed in amusement as well.

“Is Darth Cravin’ her favorite, too?”

Hux smirked. “She loves Cookie Dooughku, which I will be receiving next month. How this subscription expects me to finish an entire tub of ice cream on my own within a Coruscanti month is beyond me.” 

“I believe the intent is to not eat it alone,” Mitaka remarked, reaching for the Darth Cravin’ and plopping it into his bowl next.

Hux poked at his half-eaten scoop. “I suppose it is.” 

They ate quietly for several minutes, neither of them having much to say, and when Hux finished, he set his bowl on the table and stood up and slipped his gloves back on.

“Thank you for hosting this impromptu Ice Cream Social, Lieutenant.”

“Oh!” Mitaka nearly dropped the spoon on the floor, catching it last minute as he rose with Hux. “Are you leaving?”

“Yes, this is more than enough rest for one day and I am sure you wish to enjoy your time off in peace.”

Mitaka’s dark eyebrows knitted and he rubbed his neck, and Hux wondered why in star’s name he wasn’t looking “relieved” to be rid of the general. 

“I was going to finish watching my AntsCorellia documentary if you would like to stay longer, but of course if you have to go...”

Hux didn’t have to go.

And Hux enjoyed documentaries; “Survival of the Fittest” documentaries especially. After his own constant battles to survive, they always felt...validating.

“I do, but thank you. Please keep the ice cream. You can share them with your friends.”

Mitaka looked at the numerous tubs. “That’s...very generous, sir, but...you can take some. Truly. I don’t have anyone to share them with.”

“Well neither do I,” Hux said, rather testily. “So either you keep them or they will go to waste.”

“Or…” Mitaka slipped the blanket back over his narrow shoulders as he walked Hux to the door. “...You could return and help me make a dent in them? Perhaps when ‘Cookie Dooughku’ comes in?”

Hux frowned.

It was a deep frown.

The sort of frown powered by confusion and uncertainty and...unfamiliar elation.

“I would like that very much.”

Hux was out the door without another word, his nose already deep in his datapad sending Lieutenant Mitaka a formal invite to the next Mandatory Ice Cream Social along with detailed instructions on how to properly store ice cream: One must put them in the freezer.

**[Twenty-five Years Earlier…]**

“Whew!” Sloane said, hoisting herself onto the low beam above the coolant system. “Armie, do you know how hard it is for an old lady to climb up here with a tub of Darth Cravin’ and two spoons?!”

Armitage hurriedly wiped at his wet cheeks, drawing his knees up closer to his chin. “That’s the point,” he mumbled into his arms. 

Grand Admiral Rae Sloane tossed two spoons onto the beam and lifted herself up, swinging her legs up and over to face Armitage. 

“And what point is that?” She asked, her dark eyes gleaming with the usual mischief. “To make it hard to find you? Or to remind me that I’m an old lady?”

Armitage fought viciously against the smile threatening his face. He hated that she could make him laugh while he tried desperately to hold onto his anger and resentment.

“You aren’t old,” he said, finally.

“Well, thank you for that,” Sloane huffed, popping open the carton and stabbing it with both spoons. She looked down at the tractor beam generator humming softly below. “We better not get some sort of weird radiation growths hanging out up here.”

“We won’t,” Armitage unfurled a little, grabbing his spoon and a heapful of jet black ice cream. “I checked the manuals.”

“You checked the manuals for ‘Hardest Place to Eat Ice Cream on a Star Destroyer?’ Or ‘Best Place to Hide From My Problems’?” Sloane asked, casually, taking a bite twice as big as Armitage’s. 

“I’m not hiding,” Armitage snapped, his voice breaking with emotion. “I’m...thinking.”

“You’re thinking about the demonstration you’re putting on for your father tomorrow. The demonstration to show just how in control you are of the little monsters he put in your charge.”

“They aren’t monsters. These children are the future of the First Order,” Armitage recited the final bit from his father. It sounded ridiculous even to him. He wasn’t much older than these children, and they terrified him.

“That’s your father talking. They _are_ monsters and if you aren’t careful, you’ll become just like them - some mindless tool for Brendol’s personal gain.”

“I’ll never be like them. I am smarter than that,” Armitage snapped, lifting his chin in defiance. “I’m patient.”

Sloane didn’t say anything to that. No snide remark, no argument.

And when Armitage looked up from his ice cream, he found she was just sitting there on the beam, smiling at him; her laugh-lines deepened on her cheeks, the crow’s feet creased beside her sparkling, dark eyes. 

“What?” he mumbled, taking another bite of ice cream.

“I’m so proud of you.”

“Shut up.”

“Not a chance, Armie,” she said, gouging another hearty scoop, herself. “And now I’m going to say it again: I am _proud_ of you, Armitage Hux. And as long as I draw breath, I’m going to make sure that light in your eyes never gets snuffed out.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?” Armitage asked, excavating his side of the dark chocolate and marshmallow ice cream.

“With the power of ice cream.”

“You are ridiculous, Grand Admiral Sloane,” Armitage shoved another bite into his mouth.

“And you have Darth Cravin’ on your chin, future-General Hux.”

Armitage made a rude gesture at Sloane.

She made one right back.

And they both broke out into giggles.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Twitter: @Sneakybunyip


End file.
